


a thousand silhouettes (are dancing on my chest)

by GuiltyAdonis



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: High Chaos, M/M, POV Second Person, because reasons, magic having sketchy sexual undertones, this is highly experimental i'm just warning you now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyAdonis/pseuds/GuiltyAdonis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo doesn't know who he is anymore, but maybe that's a good thing. Or, in which Corvo is desperate, and the Outsider has Plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a thousand silhouettes (are dancing on my chest)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so in love with High Chaos Corvo. Like, worryingly in love with High Chaos Corvo. And his and the Outsider's creepy prophet-disciple dynamic (for which I blame [proserpinasacra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpinasacra/) for getting me into in the first place) is just uGGHGHHFNFFFFFF. Like, seriously. Hot damn.   
>  This is intended to be the first of several, but given my track record, don't hold your breath for a sequel. You have been warned.
> 
> The title, of course, comes form Of Monsters and Men's spectacular _[Silhouettes](http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=F3B1gQyRZpg)_ , which all of you should listen to.

To enter the Void is to be unmade.

You learn this the very first time you are pulled from fitful dreams into that singing silver-blue emptiness: to enter the Void is to be unmade. It brings you to your knees and strips you naked, all your sins laid bare to be judged by passionless black eyes.

There is a lot of sin for those eyes to see.

The Outsider runs a finger down your soul and smiles at the stain it leaves upon his skin: black, like plague blood, like oil. There are four rows of teeth, curved and serrated and razor-sharp, behind his chapped and pale lips.

"My _dear_ Corvo," he says, and the delight in his words slides between your bones and snags at your fraying seams. "Such pain. Such hatred. If only you were stronger...."

There's an unspoken question woven into his dry, sandy voice. You try to swallow, but your throat has gone sticky and rough. Chains rattle and iron glows red-hot behind your eyes; the burns along your collarbones and the insides of your wrists sting and itch. This creature's words are ones you've whispered and screamed to yourself a dozen times or more: if only you were stronger, if only you had been faster, if only you could find silence or vengeance or something, _anything_ , to ease your roiling soul.

"Dunwall is a city in pain," the Outsider says. "It bleeds. It limps into the shadows like an aging rat. I exist to end such pains. And you, Corvo: for months, I've felt your agony, your anguish, your rage. What would you give for it to all go away?"

What _would_ you trade, for such a silence? To never again be forced to watch Jessamine bleed out in your arms; to never again be too weak to protect or avenge those you love; to no longer feel the torturer's irons and the chill cold of your cell, no longer hear Emily sobbing as she was dragged away; to no longer be prey to the whims of wicked men you cannot best. For that, what price is too high?

To enter the Void is to be unmade, but perhaps you are grateful for it. How much of the man you used to be crawled dripping with you from the Coldridge sewers?

Not enough. Too much. 

You close your eyes and tell him, _Yes_.

You have to bite back a groan when the Outsider sears his mark into your skin, but whether it is out of pain or pleasure you cannot tell. He floods your veins with blinding light and bursts the threads of you that have been unravelling in the dark these past six months. He tears you open and lays you down whole, burning with that cold fierce white, singing with vengeful power. You belong to the Void now, to him, and it feels so right, so _right_ —

And, for the first time in half a year, you are not screaming when you awaken.

To enter the Void is to be unmade, but when the Outsider bids you wake again, you are stitched up the seams with him.


End file.
